Sunday Anxiety Soup

3:16 p.m.

Random anxiety attacks have moved in.
No idea why, no triggers. Just…WHAM.
My heart feels like it may burst from my chest wall.
It’s not my favorite.

3:31 p.m.

Anxiety attack still in progressed, though it’s more generalized than specific. I feel edgy. I’ve cut so far down on pop and caffeine stuff, thinking that could be a factor. (Cos the powers that be say so.)
I think lack of caffeine is making my anxiety worse.
I don’t get any of it.

3:43 p.m.

Got up and sorted some clean laundry, thinking physical activity might help.
It didn’t.
And now I’m a little saddened by the fact that of three big loads of laundry, I only had one bra in the whole lot. Which indicates that I wore a bra ONE day the whole last week.
Sad.
Probably why my boobs are not perky. Too many long depressions where I couldn’t be bothered to wear a bra for support.
Unfortunately, it’s not likely to improve any time soon.It’s not pessimism so much as realism. Until the doctor balances my meds out properly, I am in a constant state of flux and that means so are my conditions.
At this point, I’d try accupuncture, a shaman, or a voodoo priestess to be rid of all this mental bulshit.
Just no animal sacrifices.

5:12 p.m.

The phone has rang seven times today. Dad, dad, dad, dad, avon lady, dad dad. Geeze, no wonder I am on edge. Ringing phones are a trigger. Hell, noise is a trigger. Which means with a child who literally never stops talking…I am perpetually on edge.
Then I noticed on my cell phone from last night I had three calls from R’s wife and daughter, all because he wasn’t answering his phone. Surprised they didn’t call out the national guard.
The guy may have possessions and bit of money…But the short leash his entire family keeps him on would be like a noose for me. People are free not to answer their phones. Unless it’s been a day or two with no answer…CHILL.
The irony is, he doesn’t answer his phone and freaks them out, it’s an oops, no biggie to him.
Yet if I fail to answer my phone or instantly return a text, he gets pissed at me.
Oddly, I still pick and choose when to answer my phone and when to get back to people because, well, ya know, free will and all that. I am not a slave to the almighty cell phone.

6:00p.m.

Let the kid have the main tv so I could go in my room and put away laundry. Wanted to hear a song, music’s always been my lifeline. I played the song once, then became so unnerved I switched it to some crime series I’ve watched ad nauseum.
I can’t even enjoy music, what the fuck?

8:00 pm.

Anxiety aside…Very productive day. Floors cleaned, cat boxes cleaned (thanks to my kid loving the dirty job, I swear she’s Mike Rowe or something) I did dishes, bathed the kid, dyed my roots, bathed myself. Even cleaned off the kitchen table which had sort of become a junk catch all for the last year. For some reason, I have these fuctional days, PROVIDED I don’t have to deal with the petri dish. I can go my own pace at home. The world, though, expects me to go their speed and it’s just outside my realm of skillset.
I felt good about all that I had gotten done.

What irked me was I took my double dose Xanax…And still couldn’t get to sleep. Then when I did…I woke up at two a.m. For no reason. And I was awake until almost 4. So by the time the alarm went off, I hit snooze six times.
I’m in zombie land, at this point. I used to joke “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” because I struggled with insomnia for so many years. I thought lack of sleep was some sort of badge of honor.
Then they started giving me the coma sleeping pills and sleeping too much became my problem.
Since my kid was born…
She doesn’t sleep through.
I don’t sleep through.
Sleep meds make me useless if she needs tended to.
I thought maybe Melatonin or Benadryl.
But those are stop gap measures. Much like all the anti depressants, they took konk out on me after a few weeks.
So…sleep deprivation as a way of life.

Is it any wonder I am so grumpy and anxious?

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